


What Will You Do With The Hen

by helens78



Category: Shame (2011), Wanted (2008)
Genre: Angst, F/F, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fox has been doing what she's told for a long time.  Sissy's always looking for something.  Neither one of them really has the first idea about what they're doing, what they're trying to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Will You Do With The Hen

**Author's Note:**

> Much as Brandon/Wesley is my Shame/Wanted OTP, I couldn't stop thinking about how much Fox and Sissy could do for each other. ♥

There he goes again, walking off with the little guy. Messy brown hair, funny straight nose with freckles... but his mouth's so red it looks painted, and even in that t-shirt and short jacket he's wearing, Sissy can see that the little guy's _cut_.

Maybe more important for Brandon, he looks like he doesn't ever give no for an answer. Or something. Who knows-- maybe it's just better that he's seeing the _same_ guy for a change, the same _person_ over and over. He hasn't said a word to her about it, and he won't, she knows. Whatever. It can be a guy. She knows he's done guys before. He needs his fix; he doesn't always care where it comes from. Maybe the little guy can actually deal with him, help him work out his shit. Sissy's _tried_. She's got shit of her own.

She has this prickle at the back of her neck like she's being watched, and she looks around quickly, tries to figure out who. It's not a bad feeling, not exactly. It wouldn't surprise her if it came with a smile and a drink, and the way she's doing tonight, she wouldn't turn down either. She takes a deep breath, hopes that prickle comes to something.

It takes about three more minutes, three minutes of waiting and playing with the cocktail stirrer in Brandon's empty glass, one time waving off the waiter because she's not quite finished yet. Three minutes that tick on forever, one second bleeding into another, dying, fading. She picks up the stirrer, licks the last little bit of Brandon's generic scotch and soda off it. Except it's not generic this time; it's not the well crap he never bothers to upgrade from, it's something that actually tastes good. Something nice.

Good for him. No, really: good for him. It's good to see him doing better, if whatever he's got going on with the other guy is really Brandon _doing better_ and not Brandon about fifteen seconds away from having an emotional cave-in of his own.

"Hi."

A tall woman with long brown hair slides into the booth with Sissy, across from her. She's got a drink in hand, and she sets it down in front of Sissy. It's fizzy and pink and has a maraschino cherry on top. She takes a sip, keeping her eyes on the other woman, and when she figures out what it is, she laughs.

"A Shirley Temple?"

The other woman shrugs, smiling, one eyebrow raised. "You looked like you needed it."

Sissy lifts the glass. "Thanks for that." She nods toward the door. "I think you missed your shot. He's gone for the night."

"I'm not here for your brother."

Sissy pauses, glass halfway to her lips again. "You're not?"

"My friend's got an eye on him. I think he'll be okay. No," and here they go, Sissy hasn't had a woman come onto her this strong, this _obvious_ , in a long time, not since college, "I wanted to spend some time with you."

Sissy could say it was a phase, that she doesn't swing that way, that she doesn't... isn't interested... that she's not... she could say a lot of things.

But the woman in front of her isn't here for her brother, she says, _I wanted to spend some time with you_. She bought Sissy a Shirley Temple and said _You looked like you needed it_ ; she wasn't here to get Sissy stupid-out-of-her-mind drunk and then see if she could convince Sissy to make the bad decision Sissy wanted to make anyway.

"I don't know if I'd have the apartment to myself tonight," Sissy says. "Do you have a place?"

"Sure," she says. "Come with me."

* * *

Her place is a hotel room, a beautiful hotel room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the Statue of Liberty. Sissy stands looking out the window, palm resting against the glass, staring down at the statue and the water.

"There's no privacy film on the windows," the other woman says. She's walking out of the bathroom, having detoured there once she got Sissy upstairs, having left Sissy a few moments of privacy to take in the view from the dimly-lit hotel bedroom. This isn't really going the way Sissy expected. "People can see in."

"People can always see in," Sissy murmurs. "It's just a matter of, do they see what they want to see, or do they see what's really there?"

"Or both."

"Or both," Sissy admits, leaning forward, forehead tilted to the glass now, too. "Or what they're afraid to see. Or what they're afraid is really there."

"All of that."

Sissy can see her coming out of the corner of her eye; the other woman's reflection is a slow-moving silhouette in the glass. She reaches up, both hands, fingers splayed, palms to glass.

"Why am I here?" Sissy asks.

"Because I wanted you to be." She blocks Sissy in, hands gentle on Sissy's shoulders. "Because I wanted you for three weeks before I said hello. And I bet you could smell that on me."

Sissy closes her eyes, pressing back gently against the other woman's touch. "Maybe."

"This could be a really big deal," she murmurs, sliding her hands down Sissy's arms, still gentle, always gentle, all the way up to her wrists, all the way up so she can cover Sissy's hands with her own. "You think you know what that means, but you don't. You really don't."

"Does that mean you're into the kinky stuff?" Sissy asks, lifting her head up, turning so the other woman can see her, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of a big deal are we talking about?"

"The kind that returns your phone calls," she says, and she leans in, kisses the hinge of Sissy's jaw. "Would that be better or worse?"

Sissy pulls herself off the glass, out of the other woman's grip. "Who _are_ you, why are you doing this to me--"

The other woman backs up a step, puts her hands up. "I don't have to do anything, it doesn't have to _be_ anything. We can rent a movie, eat crappy hotel minibar popcorn. That's okay, too."

"What's your name? You know my brother's name, I know you know mine."

"I'm Fox."

"Why me? What do you want with me?"

"Wesley still has tunnel vision. He doesn't see things that are right in front of him unless he's at the ready, aim, fire stage. I keep an eye on Wesley. It put my eye on you."

Wesley. Brandon's-- whatever he is to Brandon, the little guy, he has a name. It's strange, it almost makes him seem real.

Fox. This woman's name is Fox. She doesn't seem real, completely, but Sissy has a feeling things are about to get sincerely, deeply real, in a way that might leave her horning in on Brandon's couch space, trying for sympathy she knows isn't going to come.

But what the hell. She's been there before.

"You still haven't said why. What you're after." Sissy steps out of her heels; it puts her a few inches further down on Fox, looking up, no chance at meeting Fox's eyes. It's all right. She's good from here. She's just fine where she is.

Fox still has that one perfect eyebrow raised and curved, but Sissy's curious, forthright expression stays put too, and after several long minutes Fox blinks a few times and lets out a breath.

"I've been doing what I've been told for years," Fox says. "I don't know who that was, but it wasn't me. I want something that is."

"You think fucking me is going to give you all the answers?"

"I think it's worth a try."

"Hasn't done much for me. Sex. Answers. I don't think they're even in the same universe."

"Okay," Fox says, and now something Sissy's said is starting to get to her, because she bites that lush lower lip of hers, and she slips her hands into her back pockets. "You're pretty. You're sexy. If I don't get any answers, at least I'll have had my fingers in your pussy, at least I'll get to feel you come."

"What about you?" Sissy comes a little closer, slips the first two fingers of each hand into Fox's waistband, under the thick leather stripe of her belt. "Do you get to come in this worst-case scenario fantasy of yours?"

"I don't care."

" _I_ care," Sissy murmurs. She takes her hands out of Fox's waistband, unbuckles her belt and slips it free of its loops. She leaves it on the floor, twisted and limp. "I can't always get a lot right," she says, unbuttoning, unzipping, her hand reaching down into Fox's panties, "but I'm pretty good at this."

Fox catches her by the wrist. "I'm not really into going with the flow, letting things happen, doing what I'm told..."

"I can ask you. Before I do things. If it'll make you feel better." Sissy flexes her fingers, feels Fox's warm brush of curls under her fingertips. "Can I touch you? Standing here, just like this? Can I put my fingers inside you?"

It's like Fox is waiting for something, like she doesn't even know _what_ she's waiting for. Her eyes are a little wide and her lips are parted, and she's looking at Sissy like nobody else exists, like nobody else has ever existed. Sissy catches the exact moment when Fox sees that Sissy sees it, too, because Fox's hands come up, her fingers threading into Sissy's hair, catching her and holding her still. She brings her mouth down on Sissy's, kissing harsh and openmouthed, like she's drowning and trying to bring Sissy with her. Or like she's been watching Sissy drown, and she's dived in after her.

"Come on," Fox whispers. She gently draws Sissy's hand back out of her jeans, and guides her back over to the bed.

* * *

Sissy's cell phone starts ringing at two in the morning. She's been ignoring the texts for a while, somewhere between round three and round four.

Fox leans over her, picks up the phone. "Brandon," she murmurs. "Want it?"

"No."

"Want me to tell him you're all right?"

Sissy sighs. "I'll talk to him."

There isn't much to say, but there never is. "I'm all right. I'm safe. Her name is Fox, she's a friend of _Wesley's_. When will I be _home_? I'll be home when... I don't know. I'll be home." His place is _home_ when he's worried about her, _his place_ when he wants her to go. She's not sure what it is to her right now. "I need to go. I'm all right, Brandon. I promise. I'm safe."

She hangs up and rolls back over, presses her face against the side of Fox's neck. Fox smells like sweat and some kind of herbal shampoo, like dust and blood and what Sissy imagines gunpowder might smell like, a little bit of smoke.

"Are you really?" Fox murmurs, wrapping her arm around Sissy's shoulders, trailing her fingernails up and down the center of Sissy's back. "Are you safe?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you?"

"I already know the answer. I want to hear what you think."

Sissy closes her eyes, feels the strength in Fox's fingers as that feather-light touch runs up and down her skin. "I think I'm getting there."


End file.
